Julie Garwood - Castles

Flannaghan didn't notice the guards' departure. He didn't notice Alesandra either. He never would have gone on and on if he'd known she was standing there listening to his every word.

"She's just what I imagined a real princess would be," he told his employer, his voice reeking with grating enthusiasm. "She has hair the color of midnight, and it's full of soft curls that seem to float around her shoulders. Her eyes are blue, but a shade of blue I've never seen before. They're so brilliant and clear. And you're certain to tower over her. Why even I find myself feeling like a giant, a bumbling one at that, when she's looking directly up at me. She has freckles, milord." Flannaghan paused long enough to take a breath. "She's really wonderful."

Colin wasn't paying much attention to the servant's remarks about the princess. He had been about to put his fist into one of the strangers blocking his way and then toss both men back into the street when Flannaghan had come running down the stairs to explain that the men came from the Duke of Williamshire. Colin had let go of the bigger of the two men and was now once again sorting through the stack of papers in his hands, looking for the report his partner had completed. He hoped to God he hadn't left the thing at the office, for he was determined to transfer the numbers into the ledgers before he went to bed.

Colin was in a foul mood. He was actually a little disappointed that his butler had interfered. A good fistfight might have helped him get rid of some of his frustration.

He finally found the missing sheet just as Flannaghan started in again.

"Princess Alesandra is on the thin side, yet I couldn't help but notice how shapely her figure is."

"Enough," Colin ordered, his voice soft, yet commanding.

The servant immediately stopped his litany of Princess Alesandra's considerable attributes. His disappointment was apparent in his crestfallen expression. He'd only just warmed to his topic and knew he could have gone on and on for at least another twenty minutes. Why, he hadn't even mentioned her smile yet, or the regal way she held herself…

"All right, Flannaghan," Colin began, interrupting his servant's thoughts. "Let's try to get to the bottom of this. A princess just decided to take up residence with us? Is that correct?"

"Yes, milord."

"Why?"

"Why what, milord?"

Colin sighed. "Why do you suppose…"

"It isn't my place to suppose," Flannaghan interrupted.

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Flannaghan grinned. He acted as though he'd just been given a compliment.

Colin yawned. Lord, he was tired. He wasn't in the mood to put up with company tonight. He was exhausted from too many long hours working on the company books, frustrated because he couldn't make the damn numbers add up to enough of a profit and extremely weary fighting all the competition. It seemed to him that every other day a new shipping company opened its doors for business.

Added to his financial worries were his own aches and pains. His left leg, injured in a sea mishap several years ago, was throbbing painfully now, and all he wanted to do was get into his bed with a hot brandy.

He wasn't going to give in to his fatigue. There was still work to be done before he went to bed. He tossed Flannaghan his cloak, placed his cane in the umbrella stand, and put the papers he'd been carrying on the side table.

"Milord, would you like me to fetch you something to drink?"

"I'll have a brandy in the study," he replied. "Why are you calling me your lord? You've been given permission to call me Colin."

"But that was before."

"Before what?"

"Before we had a real princess living with us," Flannaghan explained. "It wouldn't be proper for me to call you Colin now. Would you prefer I call you Sir Hallbrook?" he asked, using Colin's knighted title.

"I would prefer Colin."

"But I have explained, milord, it simply won't do."

Colin laughed. Flannaghan had sounded pompous. He was acting more and more like his brother's butler, Sterns, and Colin really shouldn't have been at all surprised. Sterns was Flannaghan's uncle and had installed the young man in Colin's household to begin his seasoning.

"You're becoming as arrogant as your uncle," Colin remarked.

"It's good of you to say so, milord."

Colin laughed again. Then he shook his head at his servant. "Let's get back to the princess, shall we? Why is she here?"

"She didn't confide in me," Flannaghan explained. "And I thought it would be improper for me to ask."

"So you just let her in?"

"She arrived with a note from your father."

They had finally gotten to the end of the maze. "Where is this note?"

"I put it in the salon… or was it the dining room?"

"Go and find the thing," Colin ordered. "Perhaps his note will explain why the woman has two thugs with her."

"They're her guards, milord," Flannaghan explained, his tone defensive. "Your father sent them with her," he added with a nod. "And a princess would not travel with thugs."

The expression on Flannaghan's face was almost comical in his awe of the woman. The princess had certainly dazzled the impressionable servant.

The butler went running into the salon in search of the note. Colin blew out the candles on the table, picked up his papers, and then turned to the steps.

He finally understood the reason for Princess Alesandra's arrival. His father was behind the scheme of course. His matchmaking attempts were becoming more outrageous, and Colin wasn't in the mood to put up with yet another one of his games.

He was halfway up the steps before he spotted her. The banister saved him from disgrace. Colin was certain he would have fallen backward if he hadn't had a firm grasp on the railing.

Flannaghan hadn't exaggerated. She did look like a princess. A beautiful one. Her hair floated around her shoulders and it really did look as dark as midnight. She was dressed in white, and, Lord, at first sight, she appeared to be a vision the gods had sent to test his determination.

He failed the test. Although he gave it his best effort, he was still powerless to control his own physical reaction to her.

His father had certainly outdone himself this time. Colin would have to remember to compliment him on his latest choice-after he'd sent her packing, of course.

They stood staring at each other for a long minute. She kept waiting for him to speak to her. He kept waiting for her to explain her presence to him.

Alesandra was the first to give in. She moved forward until she stood close to the top step, bowed her head, and then said, "Good evening, Colin. It's good to see you again."

Her voice was wonderfully appealing. Colin tried to concentrate on what she had just said. It was ridiculously difficult.

"Again?" he asked. Lord, he sounded gruff.

"Yes, we met when I was just a little girl. You called me a brat."

That remark forced a reluctant smile from him. He had no memory of the encounter, however. "And were you a brat?"

"Oh, yes," she answered. "I'm told I kicked you-several times, in fact-but that was a very long time ago. I've grown up since then and I don't believe the nickname is appropriate now. I haven't kicked anyone in years."

Colin leaned against the banister so that he could take some of the weight off his injured leg. "Where did we meet?"

"At your father's home in the country," she explained. "My parents and I were visiting and you were home from Oxford at the time. Your brother had just graduated."

Colin still didn't remember her. That didn't surprise him. His parents were always entertaining houseguests and he'd barely paid any attention to any of them. Most, he recalled, were down on their luck, and his father, kindhearted to a fault, took anyone begging assistance into his home.